


[there's gonna be] an accident

by Lua



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Stiles-centric, Time Loop, Unbeta'd, Wild Hunt (Teen Wolf), following most of the events of the steter episode but not all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lua/pseuds/Lua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles never had trouble thinking about Peter, so it's a red flag when he does.</p><p> </p><p>"Two of a kind and no-one home<br/>I'm in a crowd and I'm still alone<br/>Can't you see these skies are breaking?"<br/>One of a Kind - Placebo</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. forget your running

As it turned out, Peter liked Reese's cups far more than expected. He always sounded as if he would be just as judgmental as he was anything about food but it seemed the werewolf would not say a word about peanut butter and chocolate _apparently._ There they were, getting into their respective cars and Stiles had just been checking the handcuffs of Braeden’s van since he got some experience on the subject of handcuffing werepeople during the full moon by now, and wow, doesn’t that look nice on a resumé, when he stepped back out and caught Peter sneaking a semi-transparent bag full of bright orange packages that took Stiles a moment to recognize because really!? But then Malia as pulling him over to the Jeep and she also looked nervous and they would have to leave her with Peter during the whole way there. Sure, Peter had control and he could be helpful even if he had a sweet tooth but Stiles didn’t trust him one bit to not do something weird like convince Malia they should take a detour to hunt a deer together and bond over killing something when they were all getting ready to go to Mexico to save Scott and Kira.

Anyway, Stiles thought that was particularly funny even if he didn't have any use for that information when he caught Peter and all his twenty packs of Reese's cups getting in his car before their trip to Mexico. It was save Scott and Kira. Not die. Make sure Liam nor Malia went out of control, specially Liam because really locked in the back of a van with a werewolf out of control would give that particular werewolf priority in the whole ‘I wish I won’t get maimed to death’ list. Do something about Kate. Really not die. Peter’s chocolate preferences didn’t seem relevant enough to make the list, if he was considering things by order of importance. So, at the time, when Peter had arched an eyebrow at Stiles in defiance, he had only given Peter one amused look and forgot all about it when later that baby werewolf Liam actually did try to claw and bite him and Derek to death.

In the end, they got Scott back home and Stiles got had reassured Deaton had dealt with Peter and no deaths! because Scott is who he is and that last blow doesn't sit well with him but Stiles loves his best friend enough to not demand all the answers and details he wants right away. Stiles shrugs it off and offered Derek some help fixing the cars and taking all that sand out of them. It’s not like everyone else is being selfish about it; most of them had nearly fatal fights and were kidnapped. Obviously it had been tiresome. But Stiles was there to see Derek die too so yeah yeah, those very eloquent eyebrows could complain all they want and tell him Derek was a strong and independent werewolf who could clean sand off his car on his own but he also looked relieved when he didn’t have to.

Stiles couldn't believe he allowed Peter to drive with Malia all the way down to Mexico even if at the time it seemed needed. And he couldn't believe how low Peter sank, what a mistake to even trust the guy. Surely, he looked shocked when Derek died but Derek could've killed him dead forever ago! But no one listened to Stiles and it seemed Peter stress ate which was not something Stiles never anticipated but the empty wrappers of Reese's inside his glove compartment of Derek’s car spoke of a different story. Good that he had been anxious at least; what with his plan to kill Scott and win shitty father of the year…. or was it the full moon? Stiles made a mental note to watch Scott or Malia's eating habits next full moon. Maybe it was like getting ready for the winter.

Well, things happened and Stiles forgot all about it. Peter and his Reese’s cups and possible full moon cravings.

So when Stiles found himself nibbling on a Resee's cup months later while his father was still recovering from surgery, the thought of Peter caught him by surprise. It's not like they had a proper supernatural jail so the next best guess was Eichen and nope, no Peter there when they visited. Peter would have to be in the maximum security ward, if he was there. It was…odd. But then it was also odd to have a very intrusive thought about Peter Hale of all people just because of a snack. It pissed Stiles off so much, he got up and went to find a vending machine just to getting something else. Maybe something else with chocolate and peanuts, you know. To hit back. A Snickers, in your face, Peter.

Stiles rolled his eyes. Why was he even thinking so much about Peter? It was a candy bar, and there was no need to connect it to anyone while standing by a vending machine. It was out of place. Or it wasn't. If he really tried, he was sure he could find a pattern but then again, not all patterns were correct. Isn’t there something that makes you see patterns that aren’t there? Stiles made a mental note to look it up later. It could also had been a premonition because two seconds later the nurse strolls by with a dead body and what was that about?

After that all hell broke loose and Peter Hale was barely a passing thought in Stiles’ mind when they ended up learning the whole human experimentation by creepy comicbook villain wannabes wasn’t even the be all end all of it. They had been on easy mode all along and now they had to go save Lydia from becoming a lab rat because, hold your breath for the crucial information Deaton was saving until everything went from shitty to really fucking shitty, her power would be like a leak in nuclear reactor. That was comforting. Ten out of ten would be confident and not desperate at all to not only save their friend but to actually not die a horrible death.

So candy bars and the old backstabbing werewolf Stiles is used to? Not really top priority.

In fact, those things don’t cross his mind again until Lydia actually mentions Peter. And that’s after they made sure she is safe and as undamaged as someone who went through Eichen Hell can be. Out of the blue, Lydia just brings Peter into the conversation and it hits Stiles that they didn’t see Peter in Eichen. Not that they had the time to be looking for him but they also didn’t exactly check if the door was locked after they left. They had a lot in mind, okay?

He was also pretty sure Lydia’s mother was checking on Eichen just out of guilt? Prosecuting them, maybe. And his father probably had a file case that would eventually break his desk with the amount of evidence since the case itself began with a pile of dead security guards and who knows how much his father had actually included in there. Stiles would have to take a look on that when they had this whole beast situation under control. But yeah, there was no sign of Peter anywhere and the last thing they needed was for another old evil to join the party. He’d have to ask Scott about that.

Eventually.

As it was, chaos was followed by more chaos. It felt like the world was about to end any time from the moment Mason vanished into the night and Stiles was benched at the station with Lydia.

“So… Gerard?” Stiles asked her. Lydia kept typing on her phone, thinning her lips in disapproval. “Gotcha. Not a fan either,” he stared at his own phone. Well, if Beacon Hills could be razed to the ground any time now; subtlety could be thrown away. “Do you know what happened to Peter?”

Lydia frowned for all two seconds, looking truly confused, before humming something that sounded very much like a “no”.

And that was it until two weeks later he had to go down to Hill Valley to get his Jeep fixed. Properly fixed by an actual mechanic because all the duct tape and tinkering held it together for as long as it could. It went to speak of the state of his life that he could go from certain death to casual routinely errands in less than a month. Truth be told, they got blasé about the apocalypse around five killer monsters ago, and life just carried on even if half the town was being ritualistically sacrificed or, you know, professionally assassinated.

By now, Stiles couldn’t help but feel vaguely annoyed at the concept of having to explain he missed a deadline because a guy from three centuries ago was destroying the town. Sure, everyone got a story like that. Easy to believe.

He wasn’t meant to take long at Hill Valley; the drive was quick and the fixing, if his research was right, could be done before sunset. There was a possibility it would be an overnight thing, but after the Beacon Memorial waiting room chair, Stiles could sleep anywhere and even be a bit comfortable. He had a plan.

He stopped by a red light, drumming his fingers on the wheel and humming. Life was slowing down back to normal. Regression to the mean, as Scott took to saying now, all wise and shit. Stiles glanced at the sidewalk and frowned.

There was a man standing there, eating a Reese’s cup and watching him. It made Stiles uncomfortable. He looked like Peter but not quite the same. There was something missing. Stiles was sure they met before; he was sure this man was just as dangerous and just as in need of a babysitter or a guard or someone to hint at him being a dangerous criminal on the loose.

Except he didn’t know who that person was.

Someone honked behind Stiles and he took a turn to the left that he wasn’t quite sure he should’ve taken but the encounter left him distressed for a reason he couldn’t figure out. He reached for his phone but stopped as soon as he had it on his hand. Did he need to discuss this with Scott? What exactly would he tell Scott? There was a man on the street? Someone he didn’t know but that reminded him of someone else? Had Scott heard of Peter lately? Why was Stiles suddenly obsessed with Derek’s uncle?

Stiles parked the Jeep and put the phone down to think things through. There was a fog in his mind, something making it hard to understand his own reasoning. Peter. Peter was dangerous. Peter who liked Reese’s cups like the man on the street. Peter who…Stiles rubbed the bridge of his nose.

This shouldn’t be so difficult. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. There was something wrong. There was something missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this!!
> 
> i hope i didn't make many mistakes (sadly i'm still betaless and missing my beta lots and lots). i got really excited with the trailer and the teasers for s6a and all the possibilities for steter in the new season omg i can't wait.  
> anyway. the titles come from the song infra-red by placebo.


	2. falling free

There was nothing wrong.

Stiles stared at his Reese's cup, frowning. There was something about it that gave him pause. It was odd to get so fixated on this as if the chocolate held a secret it refused to tell Stiles. Well, it didn’t really matter.

Something was out of place and it was bothering him, but – and this was important – he couldn’t figure out what it was. Truth be told, nothing was wrong and, still, there was a nagging feeling that something was terribly, irreparably, ridiculously wrong and he was missing something. There was this shapeless hole left in his life that refused to let him know what was supposed to be there. It was annoying.

On top of that, everyone had simply _moved_ _on_ and it wasn’t bad that his friends and loved ones were somehow coping and acting unaffected by the horrible things that happened in Beacon Hills, but Stiles was starting to feel like the type of crazy who had the walls covered in conspiracy theory stuff. It was an agreement among the pack that he had been weird all summer, or, at least, it seemed to be the consensus because it seemed like his family and friends held a voting on the issue and everyone took part on it. It was frustrating and it felt like everyone wanted to be blind; they refused to accept they were all bonded to fall face first into a supernatural horror show at some point in their future and would it be that bad to be prepared for once?

It wasn't that any of them called Stiles a liar. Or crazy, or paranoid, or ridiculous, or unnecessary. They let him talk and it was even worse because it was obvious they didn't think there was anything wrong but the air itself was weird and the wrongness of it was almost thick enough to be cut with a knife. Stiles got it; they wanted to be normal and that was fine, but he was starting to feel helpless that no one seemed to understand that normal could only happen if they were still alive.

They wanted to date and get married and go to college and be happy and ignore the fact they lived in a beacon for supernatural beings which also meant a beacon for terrible supernatural beings and cruel people who hated love and safety! And that was fine. Stiles told so to Scott, at least once.

It was fine. Great, even.

The denial was just unpractical. Had it always been like this? He had the impression someone used to make him feel less paranoid about this approach but that argument started to sound too delusional to his tastes. He remembered the man on the street. Did he meet him before? Maybe that guy was the reason Stiles felt so ticked off.

He thought about bringing all this up with Lydia as they sat in his Jeep waiting for otherworldly intervention to take place and kick start her bansheeness. Lydia seemed like she was just waiting to go home.

"Concentrate?" he asked, instead. “Lydia? Please?”

She looked bored, but she sighed and stared out of the window.

"Nothing," Lydia said after a few seconds and then turned to face Stiles. "If I had a feeling, I'd come to it without you dragging me out of bed in the middle of night."

Objectively, Stiles knew it. There was no point in waking Lydia up and insisting she came with them to wherever something had just happened. It felt like forcing her powers and they knew that didn't work and Stiles knew it didn’t work. He remembered trying to get her to act mediunic and he even had a witness to it not working...was it Malia? Maybe it had been Allison. It didn't matter, the point was the same and he had a witness. No, he was pretty sure it was Malia.

Stiles felt somewhat isolated. He tried to ambush Mason for a research spree. Even better, it'd be an introduction to the supernatural, an initiation to their supernatural little group. It didn’t work as well as Stiles was expecting, but, by the end of it, he was sure he used to have a research partner of sorts.

A research sounding board. 

He needed to know someone else was also worried about their safety, even if…He felt a little betrayed. It was confusing and he had decided he would ignore this until he could figure out why. He almost missed Theo which was unpleasant and uncalled for. Anyway, the validation that wasn’t happening could be part of what was driving him a little crazy.

Or it could be the actual sense of danger and the collective denial of it. It was still up for grabs.

He tried to let go, be normal, play it cool but there was only so much he could do after seeing the report about some weird dye in a crime scene. There were still crimes happening, crimes they could prevent if they weren't needed to solve them.

If Batman showed up and stopped a bunch of criminals, Gordon didn't have to go in and Stiles knew someone who could play Batman. Well, not Batman because Scott was always broke and where would he ever find a rich werewolf with a sense of justice and who could rock a cape? The idea sounded funny to him and, yet, he felt like he missed something in his own joke. He could ask Scott how he felt about wearing a cape but given the many concerns about Stiles' mental health lately, he decided to keep that thought for after they had sorted this mess out.

The thought of Bruce Wayne having all his money stolen stuck and  he spent the rest of the afternoon going through Batman Eternal and trying to figure out what was it he was forgetting. Stiles was sure there was something missing, he just wasn’t sure what it was.

It had been weeks of something missing. There was a sense of wrongness in the air that Stiles couldn't quite figure out. There was an annoying reminder in the back of his mind that something was out of place, something was wrong, something was brewing in the middle night, something that could and, Scott, listen, this is important, would engulf them all with darkness and leave only a darkened empty shell behind.

"What have you been _reading_?" Scott had asked when Stiles voiced that impression. There was concern in his face, but not the right kind, not the type of concern Stiles was pitching for. It was more the sort of concern that would take them down the path of a slightly freaked out and judgmental adult asking very slowly what drugs he took.

Stiles waved Scott’s concern away; that was not the point he was trying to make. He was fine.

Scott glanced up from the stack of research pages Stiles had put together for this occasion and looked at Stiles with a tired expression.  Scott didn’t seem fine, he realized at the time, but there was no such thing as taking a break from being a target.

"Too dramatic?"

"Way too much," Scott agreed. "We just survived a medieval beast."

"Technically,” Stiles started and took his research back from Scott. He had put together, for no good reason, a whole file of information about suspicious house fires in California in the past two decades, just because when he had started looking, it felt like an answer. “It isn't a medieval beast. Wasn’t."

Scott seemed to relax. He had been very academic oriented lately and he would take anything Stiles would offer to move away from what was starting to sound a bit too much like paranoia even to Stiles’ ears.

Stiles glanced at the page he was holding, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip for a moment before nodding.

"I'm just thinking this calmness is odd. It's like there is static in the air, you know?"

Scott had shrugged as if he hadn’t raised the exact same issue three months ago.

"Maybe you just have too much free time. Have you looked into those apartments near UC Davis?"

There was no point in arguing a point Scott didn't want to see. There was a choice to be made of either closing his eyes to all this and moving on or embracing it and adapting to it. They couldn’t be turned into sheep…that particular speech sounded very wrong even in his thoughts and Scott was tired of Stiles' speeches. Stiles was tired of his own speeches and he couldn't stop himself because he was frustrated and annoyed and, to be honest, more than a little scared. There was something happening, there was something out there.

Except there was _nothing_.

There was no proof. He was the only one to think they needed some sort of protection and if he had to keep dragging Lydia and Malia and Scott out of bed to make sure they stayed alive enough to look at him like he was insane, that was the path they were taking.

There was plenty of research to do, there was a lot they didn't know about the assassins and, really, how many times can you get special magical tea in… with your regular vet? – he’d have to ask Deaton for more of that tea – to save your life before you start looking into ways to avoid the whole situation. How many assassins were out there just waiting for someone to pay them to kill True Alpha Scott McCall? And Stiles understood that Malia wasn't okay with everything that happened with her mother. He was still a little confused about pretending nothing happened at all and acting like her family wasn’t a possible issue for them but he wasn't sure if they were just desperately trying to be normal and fit in or what. Nothing seems wrong but it feels wrong anyway. Stiles wanted to remind Malia they should never fully trust her family, anyone in it, but he wasn’t completely sure how to go about it or how he got to this conclusion.

He also had more pressing concerns and as time went by, the whole pretending just became unimportant enough that they all went along with it. Could Parrish bring some sort of chaos and doom because a hellhound is usually tied to pretty heavy stuff? No one cares because seemingly he and Lydia broke up or something and things were awkward! As much as a standup guy as Parrish was, Stiles was of the opinion that it was better to know what was coming.

Not that anyone believed him because he often called for ignoring the problem until it went away. He’d love to go back to that, but it seemed to lead to near death experiences and he wanted to graduate.

Stiles stuffed his mouth with chocolate and frowned at the orange wrapper. He should go for a run, maybe all the extra sugar was making him anxious which in turn made him stress eat more sugar and now here he was in a loop of paranoid anxiety because something was not going on.

Stiles didn't think he was overcompensating for how things turned out with Donovan. There was some trauma here and there but who would walk away with no issues? Stiles caught himself staring at his phone, wanting to text someone he wasn't sure he knew. At least once, he had typed a whole message asking for pictures from someone he wasn't sure who it should be. His contact list didn't seem to have anyone he felt like sending the message to. He wasn't overcompensating out of fear of losing his mind.

Again. Losing his mind again, he corrected himself.

There was something very wrong happening and denial felt more and more deadly with each passing second. Even as things kept not happening and Stiles was starting to develop a whole thing with Reese’s that he was pretty sure was actually stress eating. He couldn’t turn around without finding another empty wrapper in his room. He looked around his room and sighed.

He should probably clean his room before someone – probably, Scott – staged an intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading it!!
> 
> i'm sorry it took me so long to update. my mood kinda got in the way and then the season started, so i wanted to wait it end to have all the info. hopefully it'll go faster from here :3
> 
> ~~i may or may not have a headcanon about peter's relic being chocolate try and stop me~~
> 
> the title of the chapter comes from the song meds by placebo


	3. staring over the ledge

As it turned out everything was very wrong and there was no denying that when you were forced to ride off …somewhere because a weird, possible rooting cowboy grabbed you after most of your friends and family forgot who you are. There was really no denying the wrongness of being thrown over a probably – let’s hope not – dead horse’s back like a sack of potatoes after being pulled out of your own Jeep and probably out of reality itself and then being taken into a supernatural place – An abandoned train station? A horror game? Silent Hill? – where you are supposed to just accept you no longer belong in your own reality, that’s too bad, maybe next reality will have a place for you.

Not that Stiles got to appreciate the bizarre circumstances of it.

In a moment, he was running for his life, trying to find a place to hide and then begging Lydia not to forget him because everyone forgot. Scott forgot, Liam forgot, his own father forgot and that wasn’t something he wanted to think about – ever – because it broke his heart and he didn’t have the time to let himself feel anything about that when he suddenly came to his senses just sitting there and waiting for the train. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! Lydia had to remember; Stiles needed her to remember him and she was a banshee so she could do it.

Stiles tried to say goodbye and tried to make Lydia remember so she could help. He knew that could work, he knew her banshee powers could bring people back into reality but...why? It didn’t matter because if anyone could do it, Lydia could do it.

It was the hunt. There wasn't anything to be done by the time Stiles figured that out and he still didn't know what he was missing but now he knew why and how and he could blame someone. Or something. He wasn't sure the hunt had a leader.

It was the hunt and he was pulled out of reality just to wake up in a train station. It was surreal at best but, oddly, not as surprising as it should have been. He didn't remember getting there and he wasn’t sure where “here” was, but he could remember his existence and that seemed to already be something uncommon about his own situation.

The station was freaky, the people in it were freaking him out more than several instances of near-death experience in his short life. They were calm. They were just sitting there, calm as if it wasn’t creepy or abandoned or as if they clearly didn’t belong there. There as a woman in her pajamas for fuck’s sake. They didn’t know what was going on and it didn’t seem to bother them. It was frustrating and if Stiles didn’t have his keys in his hand, he would have started wondering if he didn’t just sleepwalked here like so many of them seemed to have done.

It seemed ridiculous that a supernatural entity would hoard a group of catatonic humans to wait for a train. When did his life get so bizarre? This wasn't even someone trying to kill him, how was he suppose to defend himself? He could run and hide from knives and claws and bullets but what was he supposed to do about being erased? He needed Lydia. He had to hope Lydia would hear something even when everything pointed to her being unable to notice anything being wrong because this was the hunt and he wasn’t dead. He wasn't dead.

Stiles took a deep breath and looked around. The place, if it was a real place, was long abandoned. There was dust everywhere; he could see spider webs and some leaves. It was just like Alex’s house. The place was probably forgotten which didn’t help with the situation at all and didn’t explain the hoard of zombie-like people suddenly walking towards the tunnel here there should be a train except it didn’t sound like a train at all and that only made everything even weirder. Stiles was convinced this supernatural baddie was the inspiration for half of the survival horrors out there and he would write a thesis on it if he actually survived it.

In this case, surviving it meant not being trampled by horses and whipped to death. He wondered what the whip would do to him since he had already been taken to this evil lair. He didn’t have to experience it because he was pulled out of the way and Stiles couldn't help but stare at his savior.

Peter.

That was Peter, from the Hales that burned in a fire ten years ago. A memory of saying that to Scott hit Stiles so fast he almost missed the fact Peter from the Hales was talking to him.

"It had to be you," he all but growled at Stiles' face.

Stiles kept staring at Peter, welcoming back memories he had no idea he lost. Peter Hale. He was sure he said something about the Hales to Scott...ah! Derek. He told Scott about Derek from the Hales. Stiles was still shocked; he blamed the weird combo of dead cowboys, magical ropes and whips and Peter fucking Hale.

He was saved at a crucial moment and if every survival game he played in his short short life that was so not ending in this station taught Stiles anything was that Peter was part of his story now. Oh fuck, they locked him up in Eichen and forgot about him.

Stiles watched as everyone went back to their seats to wait for a train that clearly didn’t exist as if they collectively agreed the whole ordeal didn't just happen. Had Peter been doing this for...if he was still there when they rescued Lydia but was free to go because of the burned mountain ash Scott told Stiles about, then about three months?

Peter sat down and Stiles glanced at Peter's thighs. That would be a lot of very specific exercising during three months if he had been doing this same routine all this time.

The station was odd and Peter's presence in it made it odder.

“Peter. Peter, what are you doing?” Stiles asked, resisting the urge to snap his fingers in front of Peter’s face. He’d rather go through this unpleasant situation with unbroken fingers. “How are you here?”

It was obvious he was here for quite some time but how did they miss that? How did they not notice Peter was gone. He was a threat and he was… Stiles was sure he would remember it, if only because it was one less thing to be worried about.

“What do you mean how am I here?” Peter’s tone said Stiles was an idiot. “I’m here. You are here. We are all here. Now get the hell away from me, Stiles.”

That was new.

And upsetting. Stiles didn’t like it at all; there was something wrong with Peter. He couldn’t let Peter fall back into the catatonic state the people in this station were in before he could figure what it was.

“Hey, Peter! Peter,” Stiles wanted to shake him. Couldn’t Peter feel himself being trapped in his mind again? Didn’t it bother him to have no control over his life yet again? “Peter! What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for my train.”

 “Didn’t you just see that?” Stiles knew he wasn’t crazy. He knew the commotion happened; he knew he saw a rider. Peter wouldn’t be comfortable with this. Peter would run for his life.

Stiles wanted to scream at him that there wasn’t a train coming and demand Peter acted like himself.

 “See what?”

Stiles wanted to shake him. Did no one see it? Was Peter messing with him? Was it just his imagination?

“The horses! The hogtied businessman with magically dissolving ropes!?” Stiles looked around. Why was he the only one noticing it? “I’m sorry, did anyone just see that!?” he asked loudly, gesturing to the place as if it was still happening, as if looking at the spot would make someone else wake up.

Was he going crazy? No. It wasn’t normal how Peter was going on about the train. Peter wouldn’t do that after he just saved Stiles. He wouldn’t calmly wait for something else to happen or for his train to come with a blank expression and vacant eyes. Something was wrong

Maybe this wasn’t Peter. Yes. That could explain this.

“Okay, so you’re waiting for the train. How did you get here?”

Stiles tried to stay calm; tried to think. He could hear the advice in his father’s voice and that made everything worse. He had no idea what was happening with his father. There were so many people in the station; they couldn’t all be connected to a pack or…they could’ve seen the hunt and his father was investigating it. Fuck. He needed to figure if this was Peter or not.

He took a deep breath. If it wasn’t Peter, the story would have a flaw.

“Pretty sure I took a cab.”

It wasn’t a good sign. Maybe this whole place wasn’t real and none of the people were real. Dummy passengers to keep Stiles distracted.

“Last time I saw you, you were locked away in Eichen House,” Stiles pointed out.

He didn’t actually see Peter in Eichen but he knew he was supposed to be there. It took a lot of effort from Chris and Deaton to lock him up and it was the only way to give Scott peace of mind. Stiles was surprised by the memory of Scott telling him about it because he forgot how that happened. It was the hunt, he told himself, but he remembered Peter! He remembered the Reese’s and…

Oh.

He had been eating Reese’s and trying to remember and here it was the cause. Peter and his full moon craving and this would be a terrible time to ask him about it because Peter was looking at him as if he didn’t remember it wasn’t Stiles who locked him away and threw out the key.

“I was in Eichen,” Peter said, accepting the idea. Stiles wanted him to pass a replicant test by now. “Thanks to you.”

It wasn’t thanks to Stiles, but he didn’t know if this was Peter or, even if he was Peter,  Stiles didn’t know if he could remember anything on his own. Stiles felt like saying something just to check if possibly fake Peter would accept it as true.

“Memory’s good. Can you remember how you, hm,” he paused. He didn’t want to accuse Peter of escaping but knowing Peter, it was likely he escaped. This could be the way to figure out who this guy was. “Got out? They discharged you?”

“No,” Peter started and Stiles could see in his face that he was remembering the events. “The power went out and I ran like hell.”

That sounded like the asshole they all knew and loved and hated and didn’t trust at all. Stiles relaxed.

“That’s it? You just ran?”

“Yes, that’s it. I literally just ran away from the insane asylum that was holding me hostage.”

Stiles could’ve hugged Peter when he said that but he didn’t. That was something that sounded like Peter because he was a survivor and had been one since…since the hunter set his house and family on fire! It was a huge case; it annoyed Stiles to realize there were pieces and bits missing in events he thought he remembered clearly. He wondered if Derek was taken or if he was sitting somewhere with a drink, relaxing, and thinking his remaining family was alive and well while no one in Beacon Hills could even remember his psycho uncle. Stiles couldn’t believe how much comfort he could draw just from Peter’s existence.

Peter got up to explore the station for himself. The dusty booth, the pamphlets, the catatonic people. He seemed upset. Stiles was upset, this whole thing was upsetting. Peter had to realize his family forgot him, just like Stiles’. Stiles didn’t want to tell him if he didn’t realize that yet. He didn’t want to deal with an even more unhinged Peter with nothing holding him back because he didn’t have a family or a pack or anyone and he was as alone and as forgotten as Stiles unless Lydia remembered. Stiles looked around; there were doors.

Peter was here; Peter could help. Stiles forced himself to focus on Peter. There was nothing useful in thinking himself into a panic attack and he knew the path well enough to recognize the pattern.

“How long have I been here?”

Peter sounded appalled. Stiles missed this and he didn’t realize until now, until he had Peter back to contrast him with the shape of something missing in his life. He missed Peter. It was an annoying realization.

“The lockdown was three months ago,” Stiles said and didn’t add that they had no idea if Peter was even there before the lockdown because they actually didn’t bother to check. How could Stiles miss someone he didn’t even want in his life? Was it desperation? Was it the hunt messing with his emotions?

Stiles let Peter have a moment to realize it all on his own, but it wasn’t working. He was sure Peter’s memories weren’t coming back as fast they should – as fast as they needed them – and that scared him because what if he forgot himself too? What if Stiles got saved and asked his father about his name and broke his father’s heart like it had happened to him and like that bastard had already done to his father? Would he just be like the previous Stiles? Would he forget his loved ones? Had he already forgot?

Peter only confirmed what Stiles already knew. The train station was weird and the hunt was damning. Stiles wasn’t sure he could trust Peter but that wasn’t new. He wasn’t sure Peter remembered everything but it seemed to come back bit by bit the longer he stayed awake. Stiles could feel that effect in himself, it was easy to believe it was happening to Peter too. He needed to believe it was working for both of them.

Peter was an asshole about the whole escape thing but it made Stiles feel less crazy. He was being the optimistic one and trying out the doors, thinking they could escape and that was fine, because Peter was there to voice the annoying opinion they wouldn’t and to act like he was one breath away from dying out of boredom even when Stiles knew Peter wanted to escape too. There was no way that this werewolf would be comfortable being trapped anywhere, which made the punishment for trying to kill Scott much worse than Stiles remembered thinking about it and did he even voice an opinion on the case back then? He couldn’t remember clearly because Peter had been slowly erased from his life and all that was left behind was Stiles’ new found passion for Reese’s cups. He was never such a big fan before Peter was forgotten and that meant that even if they remembered Stiles for some time, he was still being slowly erased and they had to go ten minutes ago.

It was embarrassing to realize he had been obsessing over Peter for months without knowing that. It was, at the same time, comforting to realize his attempts to remember the werewolf led to a paranoid world view that had reason to be.  There was something wrong; they lost one of their own even if it was theirs only to hate and fear.

It was the exact sort of message Peter would send from another dimension. There is something wrong, he would say. Be careful, he would say. Protect your pack, alert your alpha, do something before they kill you.

It was somewhat nice to realize Peter was watching over him while Stiles made a fool of himself trying all the possible escapes and all the obvious answers. Stiles wasn’t sure if this was an unlikely alliance or if there was a vague sense of pack they both forgot but that they couldn’t erase. He wasn’t sure why Peter would make such an impression on him of all people. Peter had used Lydia before.

Peter had used Lydia! The bastard had used Lydia to resurrect himself and that was the reason Stiles knew Lydia could reach beyond her place in the universe. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to yell at Peter or be quietly grateful.

Stiles wasn’t sure what fueled his hatred for Peter before now. Had it been because of Malia? He hadn’t hated Peter for Lydia and hadn’t hated him for Scott. Was it hate? Was it annoyance? He looked at Peter and he was just glad to have found him here.

In the end, he settled for appreciating that Peter had his back in this place and found someone watching their attempts. It was good to know that even if Stiles wasn’t looking, Peter was. Peter was watching and Peter was willing to make sure Stiles knew there was something wrong.

The guy, Trent, didn’t seem dangerous but he didn’t seem trustworthy either. Peter knew it and Stiles knew it and neither of them was about to underestimate this guy. The guy was smart. He watched them, he had a plan he was willing to show them but unwilling to share and discuss. He played dumb when Stiles addressed the room.

It was irritating because clearly this guy was hiding something and clearly Peter didn’t trust him to not harm them. He stood there, steps away from the tunnel, trying to find the courage to walk into the darkness of it just to keep Stiles from being the first one to go in. It was…nice. There was a specific sort of care that came from people who could tell the difference between werewolf healing and human healing. Stiles supposed it wasn’t obvious to anyone who didn’t live with super healing all their lives so Stiles forgave the lack of care from Scott because Scott forgot he himself could heal sometimes. Stiles didn’t really blame him but this was nice. He remembered he used to think it was Hale thing.

Stiles pushed Peter into the tunnel but he could feel himself paralyzed with fear he knew was absurd. There was nothing there. There wasn’t a trap. There wasn’t a creature. Peter just survived it and Trent walked right past him as if Peter’s survival was a test for his own safety, too. For a second, Stiles thought Peter could leave him behind. Maybe Stiles was testing him, too. Peter didn’t need Stiles for his memories; he didn’t need Stiles to escape and he came back to grab him and drag him along anyway.

Stiles missed this. He missed Peter and his asshole way of being…nice? Caring? Stiles couldn’t reconcile the hate he thought he felt and the idea of missing Peter because something was odd. There was something still missing and he didn’t have the time to worry about it because they had to go home, they had to be safe, and what did it matter if it felt like Peter was more important to him than he thought? He couldn't remember anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the point where this fic goes canon divergent so the tags had to change ;//; thanks for reading up until this point
> 
> the title comes form the song meds by placebo


	4. there is no running

And they were going to die there.

That was it. There was no escape. For real, that wasn’t an exaggeration. There wasn’t a way out because the only way out would set people on fire as Trent so helpfully demonstrated for them and no, Stiles was not freaking out which he knew because he wasn’t because Peter felt the need to throw away Stiles’ earthly possessions in what could only be a demonstration of what was an actual freak out in the face of the facts. So considering how much he was not freaking out after the guy they both knew was going to die went and did just that, Stiles realized he was really fucking pissed.

As it turned out the train station Beacon Hills didn’t have would set you on fire if you tried to leave it along with the supernatural cowboys – and really, dead cowboys of the Wild Hunt were a concept Stiles would like to question when he was safe and sound back at home because _come on_ – that brought you there so Stiles got it, there was plenty to freak out about, in particular, if you died in a fire once or twice. But! That bastard knew Trent would die and he held Stiles back to watch. Don’t miss out people, Peter Hale has got the best seats in the house!

Although Stiles doubted Peter could’ve predicted the burning.

Served him right. They could’ve saved Trent but then again, why would Peter save a complete stranger that could’ve been setting them up to die that same death. And he was except he thought he was setting them up for a brilliant escape, haha gotcha ya, kid, welcome to Little Beacon Hills of Horror.

They were trapped and they would be trapped forever because their only escape was a horrible death!

Stiles was pissed and Peter was talking and going through Stiles’ things.

Stiles hated him right there and then. Peter saved Stiles and only Stiles and he sent Trent to die a horrible death so they would know for sure how fucked they were and wasn’t that the same as if they had killed him? Wasn’t that the same as if Stiles had clawed someone to death? Because Stiles could’ve. Stiles had the potential to be as bad as Peter, hadn’t he?

And Peter had done that.

He had done that to his own flesh and blood and Stiles would rather die than do the same except…except he did that already, didn’t he? Not with claws, but his mother was still dead.

“Give me back my keys.”

“What!? Did you think you were gonna drive us out of here?” Peter scoffed and Stiles wanted to strangle him. “Is that what you thought? Do you get it? We don’t exist. We are already forgotten!”

He knew that!

It was obvious; it was a glaringly obvious problem they had no real hope to overcome on their own but they didn’t need to kill Trent to figure that out because, truth be told, they both knew that from the start. They knew it was the Hunt. They knew they were doomed and trapped here and just waiting to either die or be rescued or worse! Maybe they would become riders; maybe they would become zombies like everyone else in this godforsaken station which by now wasn’t looking like the worst option anymore because at least then they wouldn’t be aware of all the really awful other options they had. But no. Here they were, awake and actually talking about how fucked they were instead of ignoring it like reasonable people should do.

And here was Peter, rubbing the problem in when Stiles already knew they were fucked and that their only hope was Lydia. And Peter had no idea about that. Stiles suddenly wanted to throw that in Peter’s face.

“Somebody's gonna remember me,” Stiles insisted out of bitterness. “Either Lydia, or Scott, Malia,” he wanted to say his father, but he didn’t want his dad involved in any of this. The pack could heal; his father, not so much. “They are gonna find me, all right? They’ll come for me. Who would ever come for you? Your dead family? Derek?” Stiles held his chin up, challenging Peter to answer and knowing there was nothing to be said because he wasn’t playing fair. “Lydia?” he waited for a beat and pressed further. “Me?”

Stiles bit his bottom lip, watching the heartbroken expression in Peter’s face. It was gone as soon as it had come, but it was enough to make Stiles regret saying anything. No one missed Peter; no one remembered him in the three months he was gone. He had no pack, hardly any family left and no one to miss him.

Except for Stiles who did miss him but who would not confess to having given the werewolf another thought after locking him up in Eichen House – an action that now Stiles have been accused of and that was taking the credit of having done personally – and throwing away the key.

Stiles watched Peter walk away and he let him. He rubbed his palms against his hair, messing it up in frustration. Fuck. He didn’t want to mess with Peter’s head even more than The Hunt, Valack, Meredith, his sister, his nurse and who knew who else had done before Stiles even got here to had a go.

The impression Peter left on Lydia was gone, his own daughter wanted nothing to do with him, his only bitten beta wanted him locked in Eichen and Stiles, who could have been his only hope and who clearly did nothing to save Peter, was now in the same situation as him. Stiles wasn’t sure why he thought Peter would hope Stiles would come for him, but he had a feeling Peter had hoped…and by the hurt look in his eyes before he walked away, it was true. Maybe Peter missed him. Maybe Peter just had a ridiculous amount of faith in Stiles’ kind heart.

Stiles was left with his own unkindness, his thoughts, and Peter’s misery until he found the radio. The radio led to a rider and, if Stiles was being honest, the fact he couldn’t get the song out of his head because he started thinking about it every single time he had to think about the riders of the storm on the storm, rider on the storm, get it? was starting to become more of an annoyance than having his life threatened so many times when he was already non-existent.

“In case you're keeping count, that's twice I've saved your life today.”

And three is a pattern, Stiles’ unhelpful brain added.

A pattern of what, he wasn’t sure, but he could see it. It was there, Peter had saved him before, all the way back to when a bite could’ve been forced on him and maybe it would’ve killed him. Either way, it didn’t matter, it was a bite Peter knew Stiles didn’t want. Did just that count? Either way, Peter also saved him from Brett that one time, but then again, he was also saving Derek because Peter cares about Derek in his psycho twisted way of caring. Anyway, Peter saved Stiles from a horrible death saving Trent, no matter how much survivor guilt that one brought with it. If Stiles wanted to accept it, the pattern was already there.

“He was right, we can’t wait here forever,” Stiles said, glancing at Peter for a moment before going back to watching the rider.  
  
Peter waited until the rider was gone before he looked at anything else. He was afraid and Stiles didn’t want to say they were going to be fine, they were going to save themselves and everyone else and they were going to go home and eat curly fries and watch the latest movie to come out. That was Scott's thing and right now he fucking missed Scott because both Peter and Stiles could use those sort of sweet lies. He also missed Scott for all the right reasons but he could use that specific type of comfort right now.

“Peter,” Stiles called and Peter looked at him. “We have to go. We’re gonna go mad, or get whipped…I don’t know, get double erased, get killed…get erased for good,” Stiles made a wiping gesture for emphasis.

“And what do you suggest, Stiles?” Peter gave him a caustic look. “The burning invisible wall or the other amazing option you have been keeping a secret?”

They were going to die there. That was it.

Stiles rubbed his face, trying to think and ignoring the people of the station getting up to mindlessly going to check their imaginary train. If he could go back in time, he would warn himself to move away and never look back. Pack his things and just run as far as he could and by his things in this scenario he also meant his father and his Scott and Lydia, Malia, maybe Derek and Peter and wouldn’t all this mean a lot of pack to pack? His friends should appreciate what a gift he was. Anyway, he would need a bigger car but people like the Yukimuras had their own cars so truly, he wouldn’t have to be concerned about everyone and he should really try to keep the focus on the problem at hand which would be warning his past self about running before the Wild Hunt came.

If he could go back in time, there was a ridiculously high chance he would become the crazy old guy who knew too much and started wandering naked around the town square yelling “The end is near! Beware!” except he wouldn’t be old so would that really be a solution? Was that even a possibility?

Peter had started moving, walking towards the train that didn’t exist. Stiles put a hand on his arm.

“Peter!” The werewolf looked bewildered by the realization his mind was slipping again. Stiles didn’t say anything. “You know about the Hunt, right? Are they temporal? Do they affect time?”

Peter turned around to face Stiles in what the teenager could only call a show of trust as the werewolf now had his back to the source of the commotion that had people scrambling and screaming all through the station.

“They affect _reality_ , Stiles,” Peter hissed. “Of course, they affect time.”

Stiles let Peter drag him along to hide behind a bench while a girl was dropped a few benches away from them still wearing a lacrosse uniform. He probably knew her but that was irrelevant right now. He needed a plan to go back to before that. He needed a plan, he needed a plan that could work.

They affected time. They erased people so they had to affect time. They had to erase them so far back that everything about them was gone; Stiles knew that because Alex’s parents never bought that house, he remembered that! Fuck yeah! He needed to go back. How could he go back? He needed a way to get the riders to go back so he could go back with them. No, he would burn doing that.

There was no escape because the only exit would set people on fire and there was no asking for help through the radio – which was so odd but he knew because hey not gonna question and flat out ignore helpful things lying around like some bitter werewolves were prone to do even if those things seemed to bring about the dead cowboys of the storm – and Peter was freaking out, why was Peter freaking out again.

“Peter,” Stiles called him, watching the werewolf. “Peter, they are going away. Breathe, Peter. Peter, Peter, you gotta breathe.”

Stiles was very close to freaking out himself except someone needed to stay calm and, truth be told, someone needed to roar Peter out of that panic attack except no one here was the alpha and Peter’s tear-filled eyes felt like claws in his heart. What was wrong with him.

Stiles rubbed his own thighs and felt a small ball of paper in his pocket. He fished it out, wanting a distraction just to find an old wrinkled piece of Reese’s package. He looked at Peter and hesitated for a moment.

He shouldn’t trust Peter, there was something about that guy. There was something about Stiles, too. They shouldn’t be trusted, they were liars. No, not liars. Deceivers, for sure, but not really liars. Deaton played that game well and oh god, did Stiles hoped Deaton wasn’t playing it and that he was telling Scott everything about the Hunt and what needed to be done to save everyone because Scott was going to save everyone and if these people kept showing up, soon Scott would have to save the whole town and that would no longer be a joke or as hyperbolic as one would think.

Stiles put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and closed his eyes because he didn’t want to see the fangs and just in case the claws went for his face, he’d rather they didn’t get straight into his eyes without any type of resistance.

“Peter!” Stiles yelled on his face, betrayed by his own emotions and equal parts desperate and scared. “I remembered you. Well, not _you_ you, but I remembered you. I kept eating Reese’s, more than I ever did because your car had so many back when we went to Mexico and seriously, what was that all about? I couldn’t figure out what was off but I knew something was wrong so thank you very much, it’s your fault I’m here and now you have the obligation to help me instead of clawing off my face for yelling at you.”

He waited. Nothing happened.

“Stiles.”

Stiles opened one eye. Peter seemed…better. Stiles opened both eyes; Peter had a small smile on his lips. He looked more relaxed. He looked like he could die in peace and that was such an awful thought, seriously what was wrong with his brain.

“They are erasing whole towns,” Peter tilted his head to indicate the board. Stiles looked at the names but he only recognized Canaan; Parrish had mentioned it. “You are right, we have to go.”

Stiles rubbed his forehead, trying to think of a way out. His father hadn’t shown up yet, but this meant he would. He couldn’t let that happen; his plan that wasn’t a plan was starting to sound more and more like the only option.

“We need to change the past. The Hunt can’t happen to Beacon Hills,” Stiles declared and tried to convince himself that his father not being here was a good sign and that he wasn’t dead or in the hospital. It was fine. “Go back and warn everyone.”

Peter snorted.

“And how exactly will you enact this very simple situation?”

Stiles pressed his lips in a thin line. That was the problem. He needed a reason for the ghost riders to go back. He needed them to erase someone so they could…

Stiles stared at Peter.

“We need to open the barrier. We need to survive that green fire invisible wall long enough for them to think they have to go back to erase us all the way back and you,” Stiles frowned, staring at a point over Peter’s shoulder while considering it and playing with his own fingers. “Yeah, it has to be you because you can survive the burns. You have to go back and tell them that the Wild Hunt is coming for all of us.”

Peter stared at Stiles. Stiles had the uncomfortable impression no one ever told Peter they would sacrifice themselves for him.

“No.”

“What, Peter, no. You have werewolf healing, you can survive it. It’ll be unpleasant but it’s doable.”

“I said no,” Peter told him and got up, walking away from Stiles.

After a moment, Stiles got up and followed him into the tunnel.

“Peter! Someone has to go and this way, it can work!”

“You don’t know that, Stiles. You don’t know if you’ll survive long enough to give them any reason to go back far enough. You could just burn yourself out of existence like that halfwit with what he thought was a plan.”

“I know I can.”

“Do you,” Peter stopped and turned to look at him, disbelief and amusement written all over his features. “And what gives you so much faith in your skills to control this particular magical border, Stiles?”

Stiles shrugged. There was movement on the other side of the tunnel; they should get out of the tracks before the horses showed up.

“I’m good imagining things,” he told Peter, following him to hide behind the same pillar they had used as front row seat for Trent’s death. “Sometimes imagination is more important than knowledge. It can make you act like a spark for things or some other shit.”

Peter gave him a look that made it clear he thought Stiles was being ridiculous and all that kept him from saying so were the riders on the tracks. Stiles rested his head against the pillar right next to Peter’s as they waited for the cowboys to go to the other side of the tunnel.

“It’s something Deaton told me once,” he explained.

They waited in silence until the commotion on the other side died down. Stiles looked at Peter but Peter refused to look at him. He thought about begging Peter. He wondered if this was how Trent felt and felt stupid for that as soon as the thought came up. Trent was no one.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he reached out and touched Peter’s hand; it made the werewolf tense up.

“Are you coming?”

Peter nodded and Stiles let go so he could run. This had to work so he could save his father. This would work so he could save his father. He would save his father; he would save Scott, Lydia, Malia, holy fuck he was turning into Scott. Peter ran past him which shouldn’t be surprising but still was and grabbed at a horse that was definitely dead and that was so not the point because Peter pulled the horse back, keeping it half in the barrier, half in the station.

Then Peter reached out, stretching an arm as if he was trying to climb over the horse just to see his arm catch on fire and, for a moment, Stiles stopped, confused as he watched Peter burn green while holding the horse.

“Stiles, go!”

Peter held the rift open and it burned green. The rift and Peter. It was mesmerizing.

"Go!" Peter roared, fangs out and eyes supernaturally blue. He held the horse, pulling it back and refusing to let it completely through the portal, being dragged along with it while trying to pull it back. The rider had noticed but hadn't made an actual effort to get rid of Peter yet. There was fire. There was the horse itself. It wasn’t like he needed to do something.

Stiles could feel the fear trying to keep himself frozen in place but this was his only chance and Peter was burning for him.

Stiles ran.

Stiles ran past Peter and looked at him, burning. He didn’t stop.

“I always liked you, Stiles.”

He had to do something and make sure his father didn't end up here. He had to make sure Peter didn’t burn himself alive for him in vain.

He would. He would prevent all this.

Stiles woke up in his Jeep, bleeding and confused. He touched his face, making himself flinch. The left side of his face was throbbing and there was some blood caught in his eyelashes that were making it hard to see. He rubbed it away; the pain was dizzying and he had no idea how he got there. There was no sign of Peter, there was no smell of burning flesh which should be a good sign but Peter was missing and Stiles was bleeding so it wasn't. He looked around inside the Jeep; he saw his bat. His metal bat. His metal bat that looked brand new because it was because his wood bat had been splintered at the hospital no long ago and that was wrong. Stiles wanted to cry and mourn but he had no time because he had to warn everyone except he also had things to do, he had to go save his father, he had just woken up from the ice bath ritual, fucking hell what was even his life, why was he missing Peter?

The Hunt. The Wild Hunt, he had to tell his pack. They could take memories at any point in time, but they were such dicks that Stiles ended up riding the storm right to the moment when he had crashed his car because a storm was coming...oh fuck. That fucking storm! Was that the Hunt or was that Jennifer?

He hit his head.

Maybe he hit his head and nothing happened, maybe he could call Peter and just...Stiles had to save his father and Scott and Peter. Why was he so worried about Peter? Jeniffer took his dad and he couldn’t lose his dad. He had a to do list and he had to tell everyone about the Hunt because they were coming for all of them and Peter had sacrificed himself for Stiles. He had to do something about the blood. No, first he was going to save his father. What was he thinking, Peter was fine. He would have to wait; the Darach had his dad. Why did he want to see Peter so much anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading until the end!! i hope you enjoyed it
> 
> i really like the idea of certain supernatural beings causing a temporal loop and i also like the whole thing that comes with doubting your own perception of reality and your own memories.   
> those two together were really enjoyable to me so i had a lot of fun with the idea of what if they could escape the hunt by going to the past and by doing so they forgot the hunt and ended up in the same situation and the events kept playing out the same with small differences like stiles' feelings for peter because in the end peter sacrificed himself for stiles each time and eventually all those sacrifices will be so significant that they will change how everything plays out?  
> idk maybe i'll make this into a series so i can write it until that big change in the end. it kinda sounds like fun


End file.
